No One Ever Asked How I Was Doing - Joey With Trichotillomania
by just-another-writer20
Summary: Trichotillomania is a disorder in which the person is compelled to pull out their own hair. In this fanfiction, Joey has trichotillomania, although he doesn't really understand it. But when Chandler begins to notice something is wrong with his best friend, he is determined to help him through it. Warnings for descriptions of hair pulling and anxiety attacks.
1. Stray Hairs

_Chandler's P.O.V_

"Joe?" I call from the living room.

"Yeah?" he responds, coming out of his bedroom.

"Have you seen my wallet?" I'm searching around our messy kitchen counter, panicking slightly; I've got a date in just under ten minutes, and funnily enough, need money to pay for the dinner.

"Er... nope, don't think so. Do you know where you had it last?" Joey asks.

I sigh impatiently as I move the old newspapers and pizza boxes that are lying around, hoping my wallet will be under one of them. "Well, no, actually, because then I'd be able to find it, wouldn't I?"

"Ok, ok, don't get all grumpy with me," Joey raises his hands in mock-surrender. "I'll check your room"

"Thanks," I say. Establishing that it can't be on the counter, I go over to the enormous black leather chairs Joey bought for the apartment a couple of years ago. It's not on mine, so I rummage around Joey's, digging under the cushions.

Suddenly, I notice something. The whole chair is covered in hair. Short, thin, black hairs. Literally, all over the leather.

"What the heck?" I whisper to myself.

As I'm taking a closer look, I hear a triumphant cry coming from my room.

"FOUND IT!" Joey wanders back into the living room, waving my wallet above his head, a massive grin spreading across his face. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.

"Great," I say absently.

"It was on the floor by your bed; you could've looked a bit harder, you know..." Joey hesitates, and stares at me as I run my hands over his chair. "Um... what are you doing?"

"Oh, I was looking for my wallet, but then I saw this. Have you had a cat in here or something?" I hold up a few of the hairs.

Something weird happens. Joey sees the hairs and seems to flinch. He looks down, fiddling with a piece of thread on his jumper, and when he speaks, his voice seems to wobble a little.

"Oh, that... that's nothing," he mumbles.

"Are you sure?" There's a lot here," I say, digging around the chair and finding more down the sides.

"It's nothing," he repeats.

"Joey, seriously, we'll get kicked out if you bring a cat or a dog into the apartment. Remember the chick and the duck? We almost got caught with them," I say firmly.

"It's not from a cat or a dog, I promise. Just leave it ok? I'll pick them up later."

"But..."

"CHANDLER, LEAVE IT!" Joey turns around and suddenly snaps at me. I fall silent, hanging my head; neither of us speaks for a few moments. He runs a hand through his hair, looking for a second like he's going to say something, but instead he tosses my wallet onto my chair and disappears back into his room, not even glancing in my direction.

I stare after him, completely baffled. He rarely snaps. Not at me anyway. Upon examining the hairs a bit closer, I realise they're not animal ones – they're definitely from a human head. Joey's. He can't be losing his hair – he's only 26.

I can tell something's up.

 _Joey's P.O.V_

"CHANDLER, LEAVE IT!" I surprise myself by shouting. Turning to face him, I feel a pang of guilt as I see the hurt in his eyes. My hand flies to my hair, tugging slightly. I want to apologise but I know I can't – he'll ask more questions and honestly, I don't want to lie to him. So I drop his wallet onto his chair and turn away, heading to my room.

I flop down on my bed and close my tired eyes, rubbing my face with my hand. But it's difficult to get comfortable, because I'm suddenly aware of the hairs scattered across my brown duvet. I'd never really noticed them before – I guess I had pulled a lot more out recently. It's become more than just a bad habit; my hands are in my hair 24/7 now.

Do I know when it started? No.

Do I know why I do it? Yes.

I do it because it helps; it makes the bad thoughts go away, it calms me when I'm nervous or upset or angry. Do I know why it helps? No.

I can't stop. And more importantly, I don't want to stop.


	2. The Devil Always Wins

_Chandler's P.O.V_

"Hey? Chandler?"

A voice drags me out of the sea of thoughts my brain has been swimming in, and for a second, I can't remember where I am and how I got here. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm in an Italian restaurant that the girl Phoebe set me up with likes, having dinner with said girl.

 _What's her name again?_

"Wha- Oh, yeah, sorry," I mumble awkwardly, focusing my eyes back onto my date, who is sat opposite me.

"That's ok," she replies politely. But I know it's not. I've been pretty much the worst date ever, hardly talking throughout the entire meal.

"I've just got a lot on my mind," I say, stabbing my chocolate brownie with my fork and taking a bite just to avoid looking at her.

"Don't worry about it. Everyone zones out from time to time," she insists, still smiling. I grin back, doing my best to make some small talk, asking where she's from, what her job is, the usual.

I didn't zone out - not really. My mind was too busy worrying about Joey. Why wouldn't he tell me what's up? He tells me everything, literally everything; sometimes more than I want to know. So it must be something pretty big for him to remain silent.

 _Maybe it's something he's ashamed of?_

"You're still not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?" the girl roles her blue eyes, seeming really irritated now, which is understandable.

"Look, I'm sorry," I say honestly, taking her hand. She looks unimpressed.

There's an awkward silence in which she fiddles with a lock of her brown hair, determinedly not looking at me, and I open and close my mouth like a demented fish as I try desperately to think of something to say. Suddenly, she takes her other hand from mine and looks at her watch.

"I'm sorry, I've just remembered I have to go," she stands up, pulling her handbag over her shoulder and smoothing her blue dress.

"I'm really sorry, please don't go," I beg.

"I've just got a, er... big presentation at work tomorrow and I have to be in early," she says. I know she's lying and I think she knows that I know. I'm about to protest further but I know I can't make her forgive me.

"Ok," I sigh. She gives me a fleeting smile that doesn't reach her eyes and hurriedly leaves the restaurant. I sip my coffee, which has gone cold by now, and my mind falls back into the endless pit of questions.

The main one being: what is up with Joey?

 _Joey's P.O.V_

 _Don't pull. Don't pull. Don't pull._

I sigh, adjusting myself so that I'm sat on the windowsill in a more comfortable position.

"You ok?" Monica walks past me, munching on a cookie.

"Yeah, just a little tired," I reply.

"Why don't you come sit with us?" she asks. Crap. I don't want to make anyone else suspicious.

"Oh, um... I'm keeping an eye out for the hot girl - her apartment is on the floor under Ugly Naked Guy's," I lie quickly, turning my gaze back to the window.

"Joey, you're such a creep," Mon goes back to the sofa, resting her head on Ross's shoulder.

"Like we didn't already know that?" Rachel says from the armchair. Phoebe nods in agreement but doesn't take her eyes off the TV (I think she has a crush on one of the characters in the movie).

"Shut up," I try not to sound too serious, but it is annoying. Especially when I'm not being a creep... well, not this time anyway.

I'm sat alone so that the guys don't realise I'm sitting on my hands in an attempt to stop them reaching my hair and tugging it out. I don't know why it's suddenly got so much worse. Why the temptation to pull has been so great recently.

 _Focus on the film. That's all. You shouldn't even feel the need to pull now - you're not stressed._

 _But I want to..._

 _No. You can't._

 _Just one strand._

 _No._

My brain is in this constant battle with itself, like the angel and the devil in me are in a wrestling match where the prize is controlling my actions.

I remove my hands from under my legs as they are beginning to feel numb; my fingers instantly fly to my hair, running through the thin, dark locks. It feels nice and I am instantly calmer, but it doesn't give the release that pulling does.

 _No. No more pulling._

To distract myself, I get up and reach for the cookie jar on the kitchen counter. It's filled with chocolate ones, made by Monica. I take a bite and let out a small sigh... I love having a chef friend. Once I've finished it, I sit back down, snuggling up on the cushions, and enjoy the film.

Another half hour later, the movie is finished; Ross and Phoebe say goodnight and leave the apartment. Meanwhile Monica busies herself washing up the plates from dinner and Rachel heads off to her room. The living room is silent except for one noise - the sound of hairs being pulled from my scalp.

WHAT?! How can I not realise I'm doing it? There's a lot here, all over the windowsill, all over my clothes...

Picking the hairs up as subtly as I can, I tip them down the side of the sill. Monica hears me as I try to sneak out of the apartment unnoticed.

"Night, Joe. And by the way, stop trying to look at girls across the street. They're gonna start complaining soon," she says sternly.

I bite back the temptation to tell her that I wasn't; instead I just mumble an agreement and leave the room swiftly. I lean against the front door, sighing with frustration, cursing my stupid hands for sneaking back to my hair without me even realising.

The devil always wins in my head.


	3. Audition Nerves

_Chandler's P.O.V_

"Can we just read through it one more time?" Joey asks.

"You know it, you'll be fine," I hand him back his audition script, having just gone over some lines with him. He's trying for a part in a musical this afternoon - a proper musical, a good one for once. It's a version of Twelfth Night, and he's auditioning for the part of Sebastian.

"Ok," he sighs nervously, brushing a hand through his hair. I can't help but watch carefully as he does so; something is suddenly occurring to me. Joey always does that when he's stressed or under pressure. Not a single hair is pulled from his scalp though, so I don't worry too much.

We sit in silence for a few minutes as his eyes skim over the script yet again, his lips moving silently as he mouths the words, before he folds it up, stuffs it in his pocket and stands up.

"Gonna go get ready," he mutters, heading to his room.

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"You're really good. Honestly. I think you've got a great chance of getting it," I say.

"Thanks," Joey mutters, smiling but not quite meeting my eyes, before returning to his room.

As I reach for the remote and flick the TV on, I can't help but grin to myself. I didn't want to say this and get his hopes too high, but I'm absolutely convinced he'll get it (and even if he doesn't get Sebastian, he'll still get a major part). It'll be great for him - he'll be doing something he loves, it'll get his confidence back up, get him smiling again. This makes me sound girly as heck but I've missed seeing my best friend smile. He hasn't smiled, not properly, in the last few weeks. And it hurts to see him like this.

But this well help.

 _Joey's P.O.V_

"'Where is she? Where is my sister?'" I read the words from the script, mouthing them to myself as discreetly as possible, not wanting everyone on the bus to think I'm a freak. I finish the big speech, covering up my lines to check I know them, and when I look back at them I realise I've got it. I've learnt the whole thing off by heart. Weirdly enough, this knowledge doesn't seem to calm my nerves at all.

 _Don't pull. Don't pull. Don't pull._

It literally drains all the energy I have not to tear every hair from my head. But I don't. I need to look somewhere near presentable for this audition.

A few minutes later, I'm at the theatre, being directed to a waiting room by a member of staff. I sit down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs... and wait. God, I hate this part of auditions. The waiting. It sucks.

"This seat taken?"

I look up and see a tall, blonde guy standing in front of me, waiting for an answer.

"Nope, go ahead," I reply, gesturing for him to sit down. He introduces himself as Tony and offers his hand to shake. It's then that I realise my hand is still at my hair, gently tugging - I remove it hastily and shake Tony's hand.

"So, you auditioning for Sebastian as well?" he asks.

"Yep," I nod. "I really hope I get it. I haven't done that many proper musicals before. Have you?"

"A few, mostly broadway. I did a lot of stage coaching when I was younger," says Tony.

 _Oh God_. He's much more experienced than me. But I decide to use this to my advantage.

"Got any advice?" I ask hopefully.

We talk for twenty minutes as he gives me a few pointers on stage acting. It's comforting having someone else there with me because having company means I don't pull so much.

Eventually, a young woman with red hair and a clipboard comes into the waiting room and calls: "Joey Tribbiani."

"That's me," I stand up, all nervous feelings suddenly rushing back.

"Good luck." Tony says, smiling genuinely.

"You too," I mumble, following the red-head to the main stage.


	4. Bald Patches

_Joey's P.O.V_

"Hello, Joey Tribbiani," a man sat in the front row of the seats speaks to me as I walk into the auditorium and up the steps that lead onto the stage. "My name is Dereck Brown, I am the director of the production."

He also points out the people sat next to him, other members of the writing and casting team, but if I'm honest, I don't catch their names; I'm too busy trying not to pass out with nerves, and doing my best not to touch my hair.

"So, Joey, do you think you have a chance of getting this leading part in my musical?" Dereck Brown asks me, snapping me back to reality.

"Yes. I do," I say, doing my best to show confidence and sincerity. "I love acting, it's my whole life, and I think I'm good enough."

"That's good to hear, but it is down to us to decide."

"Of course," I add quickly, not wanting to sound arrogant.

"Ok, let's start with the song, shall we?" Mr. Brown smiles at me encouragingly as the pianist plays the introduction to my audition piece.

It goes ok - sure, I am a little shaky to start off with, but by the end, I have got into the song well and hit all the high notes with ease. And somehow, I manage to not touch or pull my hair once. When I finish, the director applauds me vigorously.

"Very nice! Ok, and now onto the acting. Are you ready to perform your first speech?" he asks.

I nod, walking to the back of the stage, taking deep breaths.

 _You're not Joey anymore. You're Sebastian. You just want to find Viola, to reunite with her. And Sebastian doesn't pull out his own hair._

Then I hurry forwards, crying out to a crowd that is not there to listen: "Where is she? Where is my sister?"

I don't mess up at all during the speech. My acting is better than it ever has been before. I feel so happy and free playing the part of Sebastian - I forget all my worries, the world doesn't seem to matter anymore. I am somebody else in this moment, and that is all I care about.

"Nothing will stop me in my quest to find Viola. Nothing!" I finally shout. The director and writers are on their feet, cheering at my performance. I blush a little, taking a small bow. I can't wait to tell Chandler how well it went, and to thank him for practising with me; I know I couldn't have done it that well without his help.

"Wonderful!" calls Mr. Brown "Now, the final part of your audition. Let me introduce the lovely young lady we have got playing Olivia – Jessica."

Olivia is the character who is eventually paired with Sebastian in Twelfth Night; a woman in her mid 20s appears from the wings and walks up onto the stage, smiling at me kindly. I grin back. _Wow. She's hot. And in the scene that we're about to practice, I get to kiss her!_

"Whenever you're ready."

Jessica (or should I say Olivia) looks around as if searching for someone; she pretends to suddenly see me and runs into my open arms, embracing me.

"I love you, Sebastian. And I always will," she sighs lustfully. _She's good._

"No more than I love you, Olivia," I must admit, I am enjoying this.

She leans in for a kiss, her hands running through the back of my hair. _Oh crap._

"Ew!" Jessica shrieks suddenly, wrenching her hands from out of my hair. "There are really gross bald patches in your hair! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

 _No. No, no, no..._

"Um... I... It's..." unable to form a coherent sentence, I just stutter uselessly. I can hear the director and writers whispering to one other, and catch a bit of what they're saying:

"So is he wearing a wig? He can't - we need natural hair for this part!"

"He's 26, that's really weird!"

"What's wrong with him?"

Jessica strides off the stage and towards Mr. Brown, who is looking shocked and worried.

"I am NOT kissing that. It's disgusting!" she cries, not even bothering to keep her voice down for my sake.

I've heard enough - I run off the stage and out of the auditorium as fast as my legs will carry me, hands tugging at my hair as I do so.

 **Joey's trichotillomania is pretty serious in this fic, which is why it's so dramatic in this chapter and the next. Many people who suffer from this kind of thing also experience a lot of anxiety. It may seem unrealistic that something that small can be so upsetting for a person, but it can be difficult to understand if you've never experienced trichotillomania or similar disorders.**


	5. Disgusting

_Joey's P.O.V_

Feeling utterly humiliated, I dash down the long hallway but am stopped by Tony, the guy who I was talking to earlier - he's about to go in for his audition.

"Hey! How did it go?"

"Um..." I stutter nervously, doing my best not to catch his eye; I can feel tears burning in mine, threatening to spill onto my cheeks. "Ok, I guess."

"Are you ok?" Tony asks, his smile quickly replaced by a look of concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I try to sound convincing but I don't think he's buying it. Thankfully, though, his name is called by the red-head and he's told to go into the auditorium.

"Sorry. I have to go. I hope you get a part anyway," says Tony.

"Good luck in your audition - you're gonna ace it!" I call after him, my voice wavers a little at the end of the sentence but I pass it off as I cough. He turns back to give me a quick grin before disappearing into the auditorium. As soon as he is gone, I continue running down the hall until I find the bathroom - I suddenly feel as though I'm going to get sick. Throwing myself against the door, I run in and lean over one of the sinks, gripping onto the edges.

But I don't throw up. I just stand there, motionless, head hanging as the tears fall from my eyes. After a few minutes that feel like an eternity, I tentatively touch the back off my head, where the bald patches are. Sure, I knew they were there... I just never really thought about them. They didn't seem like a big deal. But they are. They're disgusting. I'm disgusting. I know I am. I'm a freak who pulls out his own hair. I'll never be picked for a part. Ever. I'll never get a girl. I won't be able to get anywhere in life.

This knowledge doesn't stop me - even now, I am tearing my hair out, strand by strand. Because it's the only thing that makes the bad thoughts go away.


End file.
